


Shambling Dread

by Stellalana



Category: Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft, Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Eldritch, F/M, Lovecraftian, Murder, Murder Mystery, Nightmares, Psychological Horror, Repressed Memories, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-07-17 20:19:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16103060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stellalana/pseuds/Stellalana
Summary: In recent months, Domino City has been plagued by a string of unsolved murders, in which victims are wrapped in a black shroud, their eyes gouged out, and a strange symbol carved into their chests. These murders have happened once a month, without fail, but there doesn't seem to be any pattern of victims or location. At least, none that anyone has found yet.Could the murders be connected to your missing memories, or the strange dreams you've been having?





	1. Fear of the Unknown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of y'all were complaining that with Insufferable complete, you've run out of stories of mine to occupy yourself between Ghost's weekly updates. So, I thought to rectify the situation with a story that I am positively delighted to be working on. And by delighted, I mean I've been doing so much re-reading of Lovecraft's works that I'm fairly certain Nyarlathotep has invaded my dreams and is haunting my every waking and every sleeping moment. Sometimes I see movement in my peripherals when there's no one in my home. You know, that kind of thing. Completely normal. 
> 
> Que nervous laughter
> 
> What could _possibly_ go wrong?

Rebecca Hopkins was dead.

Between the three of you, you weren’t sure who was the most upset, though you suspected the exact reason was a bit different for each of you. For you, at least, it was an acute mix of guilt, dread, and fear. The later two you had been feeling to varying degrees for the last month, as had the whole of Domino City, though you had a lot more reason and justification than just about anyone else. In this moment, however, your consternation had reached its absolute peak. You could feel your fingertips trembling, and although you felt you were doing a decent job hiding it from your face, the human lie detector to your right could probably see right through you. To top it all off, you couldn’t help but feel at the very least partially responsible for the current state of the young woman on the morgue slab before you, considering the last thing the two of you had been discussing. 

Despite your trembling hands, you still did a better job of hiding those feelings than Mokuba Kaiba, one of the two men you were stood in the middle of, who was running his hand through his raven hair and occasionally muttering something to either you or himself. His grey eyes were wide with frustration, mainly, and focused on a singular fixed point on the dead woman which you were trying desperately to ignore. 

It was your boss who was probably the most upset, you eventually decided as you stood in the frigid basement beneath the Domino City Hospital. His azure eyes kept darting between the body, his brother, and you, and they were filled with a fury you could only begin to imagine. Rightfully so, considering you and Mokuba had gotten yourselves involved in… in whatever the fuck this was, and now had gone and pulled him in as well. 

When his eyes met yours and held contact for three, brutal seconds, you were the first to break it out of sheer necessity. Your mistake, however, was where you allowed your gaze to return to without the brilliant shade of blue to hold them. Your eyes fell on Rebecca’s face, affixing on the same area you knew Mokuba was staring into; the two black, empty voids which once held her own bright blue eyes. Now, those spaces were as hollow as you currently felt, both her eyes and eyelids completely missing. According to the autopsy report, they had been removed with a surgical precision that would rival most of the doctors in this very hospital. A section which you now very much wished you hadn’t read, also stated that her eyes had been removed antemortem.

You were convinced you could see shadows moving in those empty sockets, licking at the skull that contained them, their forms coalescing and churning. They held eye contact with you as if they could see you staring into them and refused you the permission of looking away, a permission which you desperately needed. It was as if they held all dominion over your body, as if they had scrambled out of your dreams and materialized in the real world, seizing your motor functions and restraining your thoughts. As they moved, so too did your stomach, knotting with nausea and terror. You felt a cold sweat on the back of your neck, the hair on your arms standing on edge, and you feared if you stared into the darkness much longer it would pull you in. The same way you were pulled by whatever damnable thing haunted your dreams. 

Those soulless voids were so much more haunting than the symbol that had been painstakingly carved into her chest. The symbol which you now recognized, thanks to, or perhaps regrettably because of all the research you, Mokuba, and the now dead Rebecca had done. The symbol of Azathoth; The Blind Idiot, The Daemon Sultan, father of the Crawling Chaos Nyarlathotep, of Darkness itself, and of The Nameless Mist Magnum Innominadum. Azathoth was perhaps the most terrifying thing which swam through the stars of the Far Realm. So little information could be found on him, even in Rebecca's readings of the dreaded and forbidden Necronomicon. And, now, someone was trying to bring him to your world.

“Now that the two of you are here, what exactly do you plan to do?” Kaiba demanded, the frustration apparent in his voice, vocal cords strained in a way that made you think he was holding himself back. A week ago, that tone would have driven fear into your very core in a way only he could. But considering recent circumstances, namely the fucking body on the table in front of you, you could only stir up the feeling of apathy in response. 

“Well...“ Mokuba muttered, his voice somewhat far away, “I… don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Kaiba repeated, slowly.

He shrugged, eyes still locked on Rebecca’s eyes, or rather, lack thereof. The only reason you had managed to tear your own gaze away was because Kaiba’s strong voice had drawn your attention, just enough to snap you out of your trance. You swallowed a lump in your throat, a buildup of saliva despite your increasingly dry mouth, and worked up the courage to instead look at the plastic material that was resting at her stomach. With a sigh of frustration you grabbed the edge of it and pulled it up and over her face, movements feeling jerky and somewhat alien to your protesting limbs. You zipped up the side of the bag, instantly feeling better now that those voids weren’t staring into your very being.

“We need to figure out who did this.” You declared, though said declaration was made in a much shakier voice than you’d hoped. Mokuba seemed more satisfied with your answer than Kaiba did. The elder fixed you with an azure glare, arms crossed over his chest, for a very long time. Again, this served to instill in you less fear than it would have a week ago. 

Eventually he broke eye contact, spun on his heels, and ordered you and Mokuba follow him. 

When the three of you exited the morgue and entered the elevator, Mokuba had taken to staring at you through the reflective door. His eyes had lost the sparkle they’d contained not two days prior, instead replaced with dark circles that rivaled his brothers’. Kaiba lead the way out of the elevator, leaving you and his brother to drag your feet a bit behind him. Once he was out of whispering earshot, Mokuba tugged at your sleeve, and you glanced up at him. 

“What if we already know who did this?”

You blinked a few times, opening your mouth before abruptly closing it. You had a response for him, but you suspected it wasn’t the one he wanted to hear, namely because it was one you didn’t want to say. The truth was you didn’t know. You didn’t know exactly what to do, how to go about collecting any more information, or if you even wanted to get more involved than you already were in this entire mess. Whoever was causing the life sapping, black terror hanging over Domino City, was leagues more dangerous than any of you could have imagined. He commanded a force that you weren't sure you could combat, even with the entirety of Kaiba Corporation’s monetary resources. And if your suspicions were correct, he might soon summon an even greater power to completely consume you and anyone else who would dare get in his way.

Rebecca Hopkins was dead, and if the two… no, now the three of you weren’t careful, any of you could be next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What the hot _fuck_ am I getting myself into?
> 
> Did you guys know I'm actually really into Lovecraft? I've been into the Cthulhu mythos since I was in middle school, and still am hehe. I love weird cosmic horror stuff. I even run a Lovecraftian D&D campaign for a group of nerds ever week! So uh yeah I had this terrible idea to take my unhealthy adoration of Outer God bullshit and just jam it into a Kaiba/reader fic because that is a good(?) use of my time. 
> 
> Please join me on this... whatever this is.


	2. Oblivion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Seto Kaiba's birthday today! So I figured I'd celebrate the holiday, along with the spoopiest month of the year, with this dark offering of an update. Please do enjoy, and remember to only read this chapter inside of a salt circle to keep the demons away. Oh, and don't forget the lit white sage and citrus candles.
> 
> _As if that would help you now._

You weren’t sure where to start. 

You stared down the blank Word document on your laptop screen, white page, grey background, and an incessantly blinking cursor on the far right that continued to insist you begin writing with each of its disappearances and reappearances. The sterile, bright sight might have been a strain on your eyes had all of the lights possible in your apartment not been switched on, strong LEDs bathing your home in a luminosity that you had come to find necessary to your mental health and sanity. Without it… well. Maybe that was something you should write about rather than think about. 

With a heave of your chest and a swig of your coffee, you set your fingers on the keyboard, furrowing your brow with some uncomfortable mix of determination and obligation. You needed to get your thoughts on paper before you fell asleep. You could already feel exhaustion clawing vaguely at the back of your mind, and though you had been adamant about staying awake the past two days, you were fairly certain you wouldn’t be able to keep it up for very much longer. You did not have the same willpower Seto Kaiba did for ignoring sleep, after all.

At last, your fingers began to move, and you decided to begin at the earliest moment you could remember getting involved in this whole, convoluted nightmare.

~

Drinking last night had been a mistake, admittedly one you thought you would have regretted a lot more, but a mistake nonetheless. When your alarm blared through your still dark bedroom, you muttered a slew of expletives into your pillow as your right hand searched blindly for your phone. When you found it, you dragged it beneath the mass of blankets you’d hidden yourself away in and peered at the time. 6:45. Shit, you’d already hit snooze three times?

You allowed the alarm to sound for another few moments as you willed yourself out of bed, pushing you covers aside and shivering at the cold that greeted you. Winter had come early this year, and judging by the soft pitter-pattering noise that was left when you switched off your alarm, it was completely miserable outside. 

You rubbed your eyes and roused yourself, headed to the bathroom for your morning routine, which typically consisted of a quick shower, rinsing the taste of sleep from your mouth with entirely too much minty mouthwash, and some coffee and light breakfast. You tried to entertain yourself in the shower by recounting last night’s events, but after a few long moments of contemplative thought and racking your brain for any tangible memories to latch onto, found yourself unable to recall most of the details. You’d been invited to a party by one of your coworkers, drinking with a large group of people you barely knew at a karaoke bar. Oddly, you barely remembered anything past the beginning of the night. You couldn’t even remember how you had gotten home, though you obviously must have gotten back somehow. That was worrying.

You took to examining your body to make sure you didn’t have any bruises or injuries, a vague fear that something… unsavory might have happened. But nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and you weren’t in any pain. On the contrary, now that you were waking up from the shower water, you felt perfectly fine. You didn’t even have a hangover, instead of the feeling of a pounding headache or mild light sensitivity, you instead found you’d just managed to forget an entire chunk of your evening. You were absolutely positive memory loss was not a typical sign of a hangover, unless you had blacked out at some point during the night and had to be carried home by your coworkers, which was a morifying thought. But you didn’t have so much as a headache for that, and from what you could recall, you’d mostly had sake, plus a few beers; probably a bit more than you should have but not nearly enough to warrant how foggy your memory was.

Once you were washed and dressed, light makeup applied for work, you headed downstairs to find yourself some breakfast. As you entered the kitchen you spotted two bottles of water on the table, one empty and one with only a few sips left. Well, if you’d chugged that much water it explained the lack of a hangover. You decided to finish off the final few sips of water before recycling both bottles, and rummaged around for some cereal. You fixed yourself a bowl and sat down at the table, staring at the spot the water bottles had been as you ate. 

It was weird that you couldn’t remember last night. Weird in the particularly worrisome way. It meant you must have been blackout drunk, but you couldn’t remember drinking nearly enough to reach that state, and you didn’t feel at all sick. Try as you might, however, even with dramatically squeezing your eyes shut and humming as if it would conjure the memories you so desperately searched your mind for, nothing came to you. You could remember the karaoke bar clearly, could remember sipping on a few small cups of sake and Aki asking you about your non existent love life while bubbly pop music droned in the background. You knew you had specifically refused a third beer at some point, insisting you were pleasantly buzzed enough for the evening. And then….

And then? 

Nothing. That was as far as you could probe, anything further you tried to scrounge up cloaked in darkness and practically nonexistent to your brain. No important, or even unimportant conversations with your coworkers. No recollection of leaving the karaoke bar or how you’d gotten home or if anyone had come with you. Try as you might, it was as if your memories of anything else had been erased from your consciousness, being blocked by something unbeknownst to you. 

You groaned as you finished your breakfast and grabbed your laptop bag, slinging it over your shoulder and heading to the door out of your apartment. Recalling the pitter-patter on your window, you plucked up your umbrella and reached for one of your heavier winter coats. You paused as you slipped your arm through one sleeve, looking at your coat rack. 

The black trench coat next to your pale blue knit sweatshirt was absolutely, positively, not yours. 

“Oh no no no,” you muttered, “Please tell me I didn’t.”

You pulled your coat on fully and began examining the trenchcoat, looking for any sort of name, address, phone number, anything. As you tore through the pockets you pulled out a small leatherbound notebook, about the size of your palm, with a decorative gold plate screwed to the front. You set the coat back on the rack and began flipping through the notebook, finding most of its pages empty, save the first fifteen or so which contained various doodles and scrawlings. 

It was in a language you didn’t recognize, and as you squinted at the letters, decided it seemed more like some sort of strange fantasy language than anything. It looked like what one might get when running words through one of those bad online elvish translators. Maybe this was some sort of DM notebook of ideas for a Dungeons and Dragons game? Or the handiwork of a writer or game designer creating a fantasy language for his world? 

Either way, it told you nothing about who this coat belonged to, or why it was in your home. You tossed it onto your kitchen table and in a panic about sprinted to your bathroom, searching your medicine cabinet for the box of condoms you kept inside. It was unopened, and a quick search of the bathroom trash can found no used condom or opened packets inside. You checked the time to confirm you had about five minutes before you’d be late for work, and tore off your heavy coat to begin searching your bedroom in a flurry. Finding, once again, no condoms or wrappers, you checked your box of birth control to confirm you had somehow had the mental ability to take last night’s pill. 

You didn’t feel like you’d had sex last night, but if you had it hadn’t involved protection. You’d need to get a test done to be positive. You grabbed one of the various pieces of paper scattered on your desk, and wrote yourself a reminder to order yourself an STD kit and check the Domino Public Health center for their testing dates. You sighed, grabbing your coat from the floor and shutting off all the lights in your apartment before racing out to greet the miserable, rainy, Domino cityscape.

It was the most exciting morning you’d had in, well, years. Other than the uncharacteristic lapse in memory, your life was fairly normal all things considered, the only real out-of-the-ordinary thing about it being your exorbitantly well paying job, which had been sort of a fluke. For your last years of college you’d worked a secretary job at Kaiba Corp. for one of the senior accountants, Taichiro Enji. It wasn’t a particularly fun job, but you were good at it and it paid the bills. Good enough for you to spend three years doing it at the very least. That was, until Taichiro ran off and disappeared, three months after you graduated. The thing was, he ran off and took the CEO’s secretary with him. Apparently, and previously unbenounced to you, the two had been having quite the long standing affair. 

The position of secretary opened up for one mister Seto Kaiba, and you were left without a boss. After some employee shuffling, and some begging to keep your job on your part, somehow you ended up as the temporary secretary for mister Kaiba until he found someone ‘better suited’ for the position. What he hadn’t expected, however, was the fact that you were very good at your job. Being secretary for the CEO of a multi-billion dollar corporation was certainly more taxing than for a senior accountant, sure, but you’d been at the job long enough that you caught on quickly. 

So, after signing more paperwork than you could keep track of and watching all matter of training videos, you were hired as the permanent-until-further-notice personal secretary of Seto Kaiba. After almost two years, he still hadn’t fired you, and you were making damn sure he had no reason to.

There was a pile of papers on your desk when you made it up the elevator and set down your things, before knocking on the wooden double doors that lead to your boss’ office. When you received no reply, you hummed, and knocked again. Still nothing. Strange….

You turned the handle to find the door locked, and dug into your blouse collar to pull up the silver chain which held a single gold key. You placed the key into its slot and unlocked the door, pushing it open gingerly. 

“Mister Kaiba?” You called softly, scanning the office but finding it completely empty. 

You frowned and closed the door again, locking it back up and slipping the key back into your blouse. It was rare for you to arrive before your boss, in fact it had only even happened once before. You hummed to yourself and headed to the room beside his office, flicking on the light and setting to work making a pot of coffee in preparation for his arrival. Once that was out of the way, you returned to your desk and made yourself comfy in the high back leather chair. You began absently sorting through the stack of papers based on priority, organizing them between the three bins on your desktop marked urgent, secondary, and nonessential.

You’d gotten about halfway through the stack when your boss finally disembarked from the elevator, his eyes immediately falling on the bin with the urgent label, which already had more than a few papers housed inside. With a groan, he plucked the bin from your desk and made for his own office. 

“Shall I bring you a cup of coffee sir?” You asked. 

“That’s what I pay you for.” 

“Right…” you muttered to yourself, low enough you were positive he couldn’t hear. You pushed yourself up from the desk and prepared a large mug of coffee for him. He was already seated at his desk when you entered the office, staring at the computer screen as it powered on. 

“My schedule,” he demanded the moment the mug of coffee was set in front of him. 

“You have a meeting at nine with Souichi Watabe, representative of the TDK Corporation. Then at eleven, there is an advertising proposal for Kaiba Corp.’s upcoming releases. At two, you have a video conference call with the headmaster of Duel Academy to discuss an exhibition match with former student Tenjoin--”

“Cancel that. I’ve already given my approval for the match, there’s nothing more to discuss.”

You gave a slight bow, “Yes sir.”

“Anything else?” 

“No sir, you requested your afternoon be clear so you could focus on plans for the newest VR game.”

He nodded, “Once you finish sorting those papers bring them in. Have tea brought to the conference room for Watabe when he arrives.”

Once he confirmed he needed nothing else, you excused yourself to work on what he’d assigned you, closing the heavy double doors behind you with a sigh. In the last five minutes, more papers had seemed to magically appear on your desk, and atop them was a bright red folder with the words ‘top priority’ scrawled on its face. 

It was going to be a long day.

~

_“This is Nanami Kiki with chanel three news reporting live from the Domino City train station, with an update on the mysterious deaths currently plaguing our city. A body was discovered this morning behind the station on block 76. According to police, details on the victim are not being released yet, however they have confirmed his death is similar to those our news station has been reporting on. The body was found wrapped in a black shroud and missing its eyes. We have been assured we will have more information soon._

“This marks the fourth death in four months under these strange circumstances. Police have assured citizens they are working around the clock to get to the bottom of this and find whoever is terrorizing our great city. In light of these events, officers ask citizens to be careful when traveling to and from work, and to stay with at least one person at all times. Be wary of anyone acting suspiciously, and if at all possible try to get home before it gets dark.” 

“Block 76? That’s not too far from here,” you heard a familiar voice mutter from behind you. You turned to see one of your coworkers, Mina, as she and a few other employees stared up at the television screen mounted to the wall. You had been on your way back to the elevator, after delivering some papers to the IT department, when you’d gotten caught in a bottleneck of people watching the news report. 

“Hey,” she called your name, “That’s pretty close to your place right? I’m glad you got home okay after the party. I knew Keiichi-san should have walked you home.” 

You waved her off, “It’s no big deal. The station is a few blocks away so I’m sure I would have been fine either way.” 

“Still,” she hummed, “I know you didn’t drink much but we shouldn’t have let you walk home alone. With these murders, we need to be more careful about stuff like that.”

You’d gone home alone?

“Next time I’ll be sure to have someone walk me home,” you reassured her, “I appreciate the concern.” 

She nodded and returned her gaze to the television to continue listening to the report, and you shook your head, pushing past some of the people blocking the way to get down the hall. If you’d gone home alone, then why the hell was that black coat in your kitchen? And why couldn’t you remember any of last night if you hadn’t had much to drink? Did you go somewhere else after the party?

Your stomach was in knots and you were getting frustrated beyond belief by the time you got back to the elevator. Seriously, what the fuck was going on? Was the rain messing with your brain or something? You groaned and leaned your head against the wall of the elevator, at least until it began filling with other employees. It was going to be a miracle if this mystery didn’t drive you crazy by the end of the day. 

There were three police officers waiting for you by the time you arrived at the top floor, all standing around your desk with their hands folded politely in front of them. You raised an eyebrow and set down the folder you’d been carrying before you turned your full attention to them. 

“Can I help you gentlemen with something?”

“Ah yes,” one of them cleared his throat, “We need to speak with mister Kaiba, but he doesn’t seem to be in his office. Would you know where he is?” 

“He’s in a meeting right now,” you replied, checking your watch, “He won’t be back for another… twenty minutes maybe? Is this urgent?” 

“Very.” 

You nodded, before plucking your cell phone from your pocket and dialing your boss’ personal number from memory. After three rings, Kaiba’s irritated voice grumbled from the other end of the line, ordering you to speak quickly. 

“Sorry for the interruption sir. There are some men from the police department to see you. They say it’s urgent.”

A long sigh came from the other end, along with the muttering of a few choice phrases, before he quickly hung up on you. You frowned at your phone before placing it back into your pocket, offering a smile to the three officers in front of you. 

“Could I offer you gentlemen some tea?”

One of them nodded, and the other two politely declined and elected to wait for your boss in the comfortable leather chairs to the left of the office doors. By the time you’d finished brewing up a cup of tea for one of them, Kaiba had made it to the top floor, and you heard him demanding to know what was so colossally important to warrant the officers visiting him. You decided it would be best to pour him a cup of coffee, in hopes he wouldn’t take his frustration out on you later, and you brought the mugs out. Your boss took the coffee with a grumble, and the officer you offered the tea to gave you a nod and a cheery smile. 

“Can we move to your office mister Kaiba? This is a bit of a sensitive matter.”

Kaiba glanced over to you with the slightest of raised eyebrows, and you offered him and the officers a bow before returning to your desk as they disappeared behind the heavy wooden doors of his office. It wasn’t all that strange for the police to visit your boss, it happened on occasion; it was well known that the Kaiba Corp. CEO practically owned half the Domino police force. It was a bit strange, however, to see three officers visiting all at once.

You busied yourself with work, reading over the emails you’d missed over the last hour or so you were running errands for your boss. Most of them, actually all but three, had to do with the news report you’d seen ten minutes ago. Some were addressed to your boss, some to both you and him, and some to the entire building. 

_Should we be worried about the recent string of murders?_

_Will extra security measures be taken for those working late hours?_

You sighed and began clicking through the emails rapidly, barely skimming through one before moving on to the next. These murders had everyone on edge, four deaths in four months, each body found wrapped in a shroud with its eyes missing and some weird symbol carved in their chests. It wasn’t surprising the people were starting to worry for their safety. 

_August 11th, September 10th, October 9th, November 8th. So will the next murder be on December 7th? There’s clearly a pattern here._

_Maybe we should all take the 7th off? If we stay in our homes we’ll be safe._

You pulled out a granola bar and began absentmindedly munching on it. This whole ordeal was turning your coworkers into conspiracy theorists. Even you had begun to consider the fact that they might be right about the pattern, and that maybe it would be best to stay home on the 7th. Still, if you did that you were pretty sure your boss would kill you before any lunatic on the street could. He was going to be so pissed when he started reading through some of these emails…. 

Today seriously sucked. 

You were roused from your thoughts at the sound of your name being gruffly called. You set your granola bar down and turned your head to your boss, leaning against your desk with one of his hands. He was peering around your head to look at your screen, along with the emails you were reading. 

“Did the police leave?” You asked. 

“They’re getting hysterical,” he muttered, ignoring your question. You blinked a few times, before realizing he meant his employees. 

“Yeah… seems these deaths have everyone on edge.” 

He hummed in thought before his eyes met yours, “And you?”

“Me, sir?”

“How are you feeling about the current state of things?” 

You frowned, biting at your bottom lip as you tried to form a somewhat coherent response. Admittedly, you hadn’t thought too much about the murders, you’d been distracted by trying to figure out what the hell happened last night, and why you were missing an entire chunk of your memory. You couldn’t deny you were a little nervous about the whole thing, who wouldn’t be? There seemed to be a sort of strange fog hanging over Domino City. But, come on, it wasn’t enough that you’d give in to the mob mentality of these emails. The police were working on finding the killer, and so long as you were careful going home alone you were sure you’d be fine. 

Finally, you shrugged. “Personally I’m alright, sir. I think the whole thing is getting blown a bit out of proportion. Still… I can understand people’s fears.” 

Kaiba narrowed his sapphire eyes at you; either he was considering your words or he had already decided he didn’t like them. It was difficult to tell with him sometimes. After a moment he pushed himself from your desk and took the pile of papers you’d set in the ‘urgent’ bin, before waving you off and returning to his office. You sighed and glanced to the clock on your monitor, which read 12:46. Only halfway through your shift, and you already needed a nap.


	3. Fixed Cosmic Law

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's your friendly reminder to read this chapter on consecrated ground, with a healthy amount of silver shavings sprinkled around your body. Maybe have a priest on speed dial, as well.
> 
>  
> 
> _Although, it's not like they could possibly save you._  
> 

You cannot see. 

Your footing is unsteady, ground beneath your feet seeming to move in slow, long, rhythmic churns. Whatever you are standing on is wet, a thin liquid sticking to the bottoms of your bare feet, making the already slick ground impossible to move upon. Even just trying to keep yourself upright in this one spot requires you to concentrate. 

Your hands grope in the darkness for a moment, reaching in front of you to feel for something solid. Gaining no purchase this way, you begin swinging wildly, desperate to find something to clutch. Your hand strikes something in front of you as you flail about, knuckles clipping against it before just as quickly swinging past. You move your hand back to that spot, but whatever you had hit is already gone. It had felt smooth, soft, and... squishy. You pause your swinging to notice your knuckles are wet, a thin layer of whatever is coating your feet atop them. 

Something lets out a low, gutteral gurgle below you. You snap your head to the direction, but in the darkness you are blind. The sound echoes around you, reverberating through your body, sending a shiver up your spine which stops at the base of your neck. The floor beneath you jerks, spasming, and sends you slipping to the ground. You land on your hip, but the floor is soft so it doesn’t hurt very much. Soft and squishy. 

An acrid smell overtakes you as the sticky liquid reacts to your collapse, splashing upward and sending flecks of itself to pepper your skin. It smells salty, briny, almost like ocean water and vinegar, but so strong you have a hard time breathing it in. It makes your eyes water, your nostrils burn, your throat ache. A thin layer of saliva produces itself in your mouth, your stomach churns, and for a moment you are convinced you will be sick. This horrible smell, assaulting your every sense, is all you can focus on. 

That is, until something gropes at your leg. 

Your brain reacts too slowly, as if in a haze. Your limbs do not react at all, lagging behind your consciousness. You tell your arms to move, your hands to grab, your fingers to claw at whoever, whatever is gripping your ankle. Slithering up your calf. Digging into your thigh. It feels slick, sticky, soft and fleshy, like whatever floor you’re sitting on. You can’t move. You try to scream, you open your lips to scream, but no sound wills itself from your obstinate throat. 

Something scratches at the back of your neck, no, the base of your skull. You cannot move. Your arms will not move. Whatever is happening to you has taken over your motor functions. That disgusting, pelagic smell still bites at your nostrils and chokes every breath you take in. You realize you are hyperventilating, but you cannot hear your own breathing, you can only feel the strangling air as it enters your throat, fills your lungs, and exits just as swiftly and painfully. 

Then you are yanked forward, the thing, whatever it is, around your leg dragging you across the soft, slippery floor. Your back slides through the thin layer of liquid, soaking you in its caustic smell, seeping into your pores. It is still dark; you want desperately to see what is grabbing you, what is surrounding you. You find yourself unable to close your eyelids, unable to blink. Your eyes burn. The scratching at the base of your skull is still there. It makes no sound, but somehow you think if you could hear it, it would be akin to fingernails digging into bone. Rasping at the surface, the only protection between your mind and whatever… whatever that thing is. 

Are you going mad?

Then, you are no longer being dragged across the floor, simply because the floor is no longer there. There is nothing. You have toppled over the edge, of what you aren’t sure. The tentacle, or what you have to assume is a tentacle because you have no other way to describe the worming form you feel clutching your leg, grips you even tighter. You are afraid it will tear your leg off as you fall through the air. The smell whirls past you. It is cold. Cold, and dark, and terrifying. You try to reach, for what you do not know but you try nonetheless, to find your arms still will not obey commands. 

The base of your skull aches. It burns. It itches. It feel like everything and nothing at the same time. You do not understand what is happening; tumbling, being dragged downward into blackness that you cannot see or hear but can somehow feel and smell and taste. Blind, mute, deaf, terrified. 

Somehow you know there is a bottom to this madness. This abyss. You are being dragged to it, and you do not know how you know, but you do. There is a swirling vortex of mania beneath you, one that you may already be inside of, yet which you have not reached the end of. The scratching begins to fade. Throbbing. When will the bottom come, and what will find you there? Will it trap you? 

Before you can find out, you awake with the scream you hadn’t been able to make in your dream.

~

You hadn’t been able to sleep after that nightmare. When you shut your eyes, the darkness on the backs of your eyelids had been too much for you to stand for more than twenty seconds, and you ended up turning on your bedroom lights and scanning the room for… for what, you didn’t know. Scanning became searching, and searching became frantically tossing sheets and pillows across the room, turning over items on your desk, and even taking your cell phone flashlight to the underside of your bed. You decided there was too much beneath it, too many crevices bathed in shadow.

That turned into an hour and a half of meticulously cleaning your bedroom and closet. 

Come one in the morning, you repeated the process with the rest of your home, turning on the lights, performing a quick scan, and restlessly and painstakingly cleaning and organizing so no lurking shadows could be found. By five, your apartment was spotless, aside from a few areas that needed vacuuming, though you decided you would hold off until you got home from work so not to wake your downstairs neighbors.

The entire time you cleaned, your skin felt prickly, and you desperately wanted to shower. But the thought of entering your bathroom, naked and unguarded, when the house was not spotless and bathed in the comforting safety of artificial light, filled you with dread that eclipsed physical discomfort. Once the house was suitably spotless, however, you jumped into the shower about as quickly as humanly possible, and turned the water on full blast. It was too hot, so your reddening skin protested, but when you made to turn the temperature down something in the back of your mind told you the hotter the water, the more bacteria it washed away. It was irrational, of course. Irrational, but comforting. You stood beneath the scalding water, eventually your body’s protests subsided as it became used to the temperature, although not fully. 

You reached for the nearest bottle of fruit scented liquid soap, covering your body scrubber in a liberal amount before going to town on your skin. If it hadn’t already been red from the heat of the shower, it would have been after how thoroughly you scrubbed at your body. And repeated. And repeated once more. The smell of fruit overwhelmed your nose, but at least it was better than whatever that foul smell had been in your nightmare. You cleaned your face in much the same fashion, exfoliating twice before using a foaming cleanser and standing beneath the burning water of the shower. You realized your hair had also been soaked in whatever that vile liquid had been, and took to scrubbing it with shampoo to relieve yourself of the feeling of briny, sticky discomfort. Try as you might, however, you could not scrub away the memories that were now ingrained in your mind.

By the time you finally felt clean enough to exit the shower, it had reached six. Deciding it would be impossible now to try to take a half hour nap, you resigned yourself to getting ready for work and making yourself a pot of coffee. Running on only two hours of sleep, you would probably need it. You made toast as well, though found you could only manage to take small bites, and it took a significant amount of chewing and effort to force yourself to swallow. Your stomach churned in protest to the nourishment, but you knew you needed to eat something or you would be kicking yourself later. 

The coffee went down easier. 

By seven you had finished eating, put on your usual face of makeup, and began preoccupying yourself with your laptop. You had another half hour before you needed to leave for work, and figured it would be a good time to catch up on the news and at least pretend you were part of the world outside of your job. You sipped at your second cup of coffee and went to your usual news site, skimming the headlines of the world news section, finding relatively little of interest. Moving on to your local news, most of it revolved around the murders around Domino City, various articles interviewing locals and regurgitating the same, limited information from moths prior. 

A single photo caught your eye in one of the articles, not a photo of the crime scene or the bodies, no. Rather, it was a rough pencil sketch of the symbol that had been carved into each of the victims’ chests. A small circle, with eight lines radiating from it in the shape of a star. At their ends, another set of small flat perpendicular lines that stopped short of connecting to one another, as if trying to form an octagon with no corners.

After looking at the photo for a moment, your curiosity was satiated. You took a final sip of your coffee and shut the top of your laptop, deciding it was time to get going. There was still enough in your coffee pot for one more cup, so after a bit of internal debate you decided to grab one of your thermoses from your cabinets and pour the remainder inside. You would probably need the caffeine, and even if what you poured inside now ended up getting cold, having the thermos for work would likely serve you well. You pulled on your coat, grabbed an umbrella from your rack, and secure your bag on your shoulder as you set off for work. 

A dreary morning greeted you, much like it had for the better half of the week, a thin mist of rain coating you. You silently lamented the fact that it had not stopped raining for three days, weather wavering between light sprinklings of water and heavy thunderstorms. Thankfully, the subway station entrance was only a few blocks from your apartment, so you wouldn’t need to be out in the dampness for very long. 

The citizens of Domino seemed in a similar tired and dismal state due to the colorless overcast looming above the city. Not just the overcast of the water laden clouds, no. There was a suspended apprehension in the air, caused by reports of an uncaught serial killer and unsolved, gruesome murders. Other than the rumbling of the subway gliding along the track, the car was all but silent, even the middle and high school students who were usually filled to the brim with chatter were reduced to morbid and somber stillness. Heads buried in hoods, eyes trained on phone screens, any words that could be spoken or sounds to be made caught in tight throats and fuzzy minds. Within another day or two the feeling would subside, just as it had in months prior, when news of the murders was buried beneath other current events; school field trips, work deadlines, evening drinking parties, and family dinners. Likely, the only reason the dreary feelings had lasted so long was the persistent slate grey state of the sky above.

Shuffling out of the subway car behind other silent passengers, you immersed yourself into the flow of people, many of whom you recognized as fellow Kaiba Corporation employees. You drowned in a sea of neatly pressed business slacks, blazers, bleached white button-ups, all color of neckties, pinstripe pencil skirts, and crisp blouses. Leather briefcases and laptop bags containing time-sensitive documents, company releases, sales analysis, lines of code, and market research. It replaced your drab surroundings, somewhat, the familiarity of fellow employees and the continued monotony of day-to-day work.

You collapsed your umbrella as you entered the glowing warmth of the Kaiba Corporation lobby, setting it into one of the many communal umbrella racks beside the front door. A cold wind blew at your back as employees filed inside behind you, patiently and politely waiting their turns to do the same as you had. The pristine white and blue interior of the lobby was a welcome and familiar sight to you, bright white LED lights lining the ceiling in a circular pattern, flooding the building in a luminosity that would not allow darkness to hide in any corners or alcoves. 

You took a deep breath in, your chest swelling comfortably as if you were breathing in the very light itself, the feeling calming you more than any amount of home-cleaning had. Perhaps you would need to invest in whatever brand bulb the company used to light this lobby, you mused before frowning a bit at the thought. It was not lost on you the strangeness of your sudden apprehension what it came to the dark, even after such a startling dream the night prior. Perhaps the feeling would subside as you settled into your work routine, by the end of the day you were sure you’d be back to normal, and considering your lack of sleep you’d probably be out like a light once your head hit the pillow. 

Your speculations were interrupted by the sound of your name, the source of which appeared to be coming from one of the open elevators you were heading toward. You glanced up from your phone screen to notice your boss standing in the middle lift, holding down the button which kept the doors open and directing an impatient stare your way. The car was otherwise empty, there was a sort of unspoken agreement between all employees at Kaiba Corporation that when one noticed the CEO inside of an elevator it was best to leave him to his thoughts, lest one wrong word or sound send him spiraling into a tirade. Unfortunately, perhaps, that rule did not apply to his personal secretary.

“Good morning sir,” you greeted with a brief bow of your head as you rushed into the elevator, making it a point to slip your phone into your handbag. You stepped into the middle of the elevator, leaving enough space between you and Kaiba to be polite. You noticed the faces of a few employees heading to the elevator as well, every intention of stepping inside before they spied the man standing next to you, and quickly thought better of it. The doors closed in front of you with a satisfying click, and the elevator began ascending steadily toward the forty-seventh floor. It made no stops along the way, presumably because your boss had scanned his ID at the screen next to the elevator control panel. Without your phone, you chose to occupy yourself with watching the numbers increase, a second between each change in number. 

Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen…. 

“You look tired,” your boss remarked flatly, his eyes still locked on his cellphone screen. 

You stiffened a bit, turning your attention to him as you thought up a response to his comment, rather his observation. Kaiba would sometimes make offhand remarks to you when he noticed something out of place, though you didn’t think he meant anything malicious by it. You didn’t think he meant anything at all by it really, what with the emotionless way he spoke. It would happen when you had gotten a haircut, used a new perfume, or after getting your nails done. You were pretty sure it was just some sort of reflex to him absorbing information. 

“Ah… yeah,” you admitted awkwardly, “I had a little trouble sleeping last night. But how did you--?”

“Your finger are shaking from a caffeine high, yet you still brought a thermos filled with coffee,” he interrupted dismissively, “You’re clearly overcompensating from a lack of sleep.”

You frowned down at your cup, unsure how to respond. You decided after a few seconds that it would probably be best not to say anything at all. 

“Get me my schedule for the day--” he began as the elevator dinged at the top floor, slipping his photo into the inner pocket of his jacket. However, any further words dying on his lips as the heavy metal doors opened to a thick, sharp, metallic smell that made a breath catch in your throat. You coughed into your palm as you looked through the now opened doors, the same area your boss was staring. 

It was a horrifying sight. Dressed in the uniform of Kaiba Corporation security, military grade black cotton pants and matching jacket with blue detailing. A thick black leather utility belt around his waist, threaded through each belt loop of his pants. You should have known who he was, the man in front of your boss’ office doors, considering you knew each of the security guards by name, could easily identify each of them by their face. 

Except this one didn’t have a face. Rather, he had a face, or had once had a face, but it had been smashed. Smashed, or maybe caved? The top of his head was... less of a head and more of a pulp, a sort of red mash of bone fragments and brain. Blood covered the front of the doors, a smear from about five and a half feet up dragged down to where his head was. Once was. It pooled around the body, coating the uniform, staining the white rug beneath, running through the cracks in the wood flooring.

None of that, not the body nor the beaten head nor the blood staining the uniform or the rug or the floorboards. It was the writing, starting just above the big smear of blood against the oak doors of Kaiba’s office. An ugly scrawling, the same rust color of the dried smear, red enough that it wouldn’t blend into the wood, sticking out against the rest of the gruesome scene.

_Ya ilyaa n’ghft ph’shugg_

“This is Seto Kaiba, I need a homicide unit in my office. Now.”

~

Members of the Domino City Police Department shuffled about the large lobby before Kaiba’s office, small yellow numbered signs surrounding the body and labeling places of interest. Significantly telling blood spatters, a discarded cell phone, fragments of bone that had been launched across the hardwood floor. One member of the forensic unit walked around the body with a DSLR, taking pictures of the lifeless, beaten body slumped against the heavy oak doors. Another wore white latex gloves, carefully examining items that had been strewn around the security guard. Of the most interest was a heavy crystal paperweight, a bright and colorful peacock at its base, a long crack extending around its exterior and fracturing the kaleidoscope of hues, mixing them in a maddening spiral beneath the layer of caked blood. The paperweight had once sat upon your desk, a gift from the vice president in celebration of you making it as Kaiba’s secretary for a full year. Upon noticing you staring at it, one of the officers, who had been walking around the body with a notebook and a clipboard, walked over to you and smiled warmly.

“Don’t worry, once we find out who did this we can have that cleaned for you.”

“No, it’s alright,” you replied, resisting the urge to curl your lips back in disgust at the kind offer, “I think I’d prefer if you kept it. The thought of putting a murder weapon on my desk is a bit….”

“Morbid?” He offered with a chuckle.

“Exactly.” 

He said he would relay your wishes to the chief and excused himself, giving a polite bow of his head and returning to his note taking. You forced your eyes from the damaged and bloodied paperweight, instead training them on your boss, his tall frame towering over the officer currently at his side. His arms were crossed, brow knit in frustration, sapphire eyes still on the body that was in the way of his office, of important work that needed to be done. You were not sure of many of the things that circulated through his head, but this was a thought you were positive of. His annoyance was stemming less from the murder in his lobby and more from how it stopped him from doing his job.

“What does this writing say?” One of the officers asked, standing to the left of the body, scratching his head with the back of his pen. 

“Dunno,” shrugged another, “It doesn’t even look like a language.”

“It has to be, what else would it be?”

“Try pronouncing it then.”

“I can’t read that,” he dismissed, “Does anyone speak English? Maybe it’s some kind of Western language.”

Another officer joined the first, peering up at the writing on the wood doors, “Ya il… ili-yaa… ng-hufft… how do you even make those sounds?”

The two officers still knelt over the body began laughing as their colleague struggled to pronounce the syllables scrawled upon the face of the heavy oak, prompting him to turn around and snap at them, face red from embarrassment. You, too, might have found the scene funny enough to laugh had you not had your eyes locked on the security guard’s missing cranium the entire time. Something was… off about it. 

Well, other than the fact that is was a sunken in skull, caved in so badly that it looked less like a head and more like a raspberry jam, bits of bone serving as seeds and brain as chunks of fruit still left partially intact. The comparison to food only served to churn your stomach more. But it wasn’t the way it had been beaten into his body, nor the way blood spattered the scene, nor the fact that you could not identify him. No something was wrong with that missing head. It looked darker than it should have, didn’t it? Shadowy and sinister, like the crevices in its missing chunks were home to some sort of unholy, perhaps unspeakable thing, and it was staring at you. Willing you to stare back. A living, churning thing that caressed the guard’s insides and glided amidst the bits of flesh that shielded it from light, only retreating when the flash of the DSLR camera forced it away.

“You can go home if you like.” A deep baritone spoke above you. You blinked away from the body to look up, finding the task surprisingly easy now that your mind was occupied with other, more pressing things. Your boss stood beside you, his glare from earlier softened but still visible as he looked down at you. 

“Oh, no sir, I don’t mind staying.” You replied quickly. 

“You’ve been staring at that body all morning,” he dismissed, “Observing a murder investigation is not within your job description.” 

“It’s really alright,” you insisted, “I just… would really like to get to work is all.” 

It wasn’t a lie. The last place you wanted to be after what you’d been staring down for the past hour was at home alone, with nothing to occupy your thoughts. At least here, in the building, there was plenty of light and plenty to do. Plenty of ways to distract yourself, to push the thought of creeping shadows to the furthest point of your mind. Except, of course, the shadows in the body in front of you. 

Wait a minute, where did they go?

You blinked incredulously at the sunken cranium of the security guard, staring at the spot you had so clearly seen shadows moving in the blackness of flesh. But now, there was nothing. Somewhere in the background, one of the officers remarked that the guard’s heavy leather belt remained untouched. His taser, walkie talkie, and pepper spray all tucked neatly away in their compartments, buttons still fastened tightly. Whoever had come up here had snuck up on him, it appeared, he had had no time to defend himself. 

No, another argued. He was facing the elevator, facing his attacker when his skull had been bludgeoned with the paperweight. He must have seen the attacker, otherwise his injuries made no sense. So why, then, had he not defended himself? What had transpired in this lobby? And just what did that writing mean? 

Your voice was called by your boss, demanding your immediate attention. You looked away from the body again to lock eyes with azure, apologizing for your distraction. He quickly dismissed your muttered ‘sorry’ by holding up a hand. 

“I’m not a tyrant,” he said pointedly.

“I don’t think you are, sir.” Your statement came out more like a question than you’d intended. You weren’t sure where his affirmation had come from, and confusion was clear on your face. 

“I won’t force you to work considering what’s transpired here today.” He elaborated. 

You nodded, “I appreciate your kindness, sir, but I’d… actually quite like to work.” 

He examined you for a moment, scrutinizing every detail of your face, as if trying to determine if you were lying or not. It would not surprise you if he were some sort of human lie-detector, it was a thought you’d considered before, although you hadn’t tested the theory much. It wasn’t in your best interest to lie to the man, confirmed lie detector or not, and they only times you’d ever done so had been white lies about not feeling ill or not having skipped your lunch break, things you weren’t particularly good at hiding and he could pick apart easily. You realized you had not blinked in the near ten seconds he took deciding if he believed you, which it seemed he had, as he quickly turned from you to address one of the officers. 

“How much longer are you fools going to take before I can get to my office?”

“A-Apologies Mister Kaiba!” One of them snapped to attention, the one with the clipboard and notepad, “But it will we quite a while! We want to make sure we have all the information to catch whoever--”

Kaiba dismissed any further assurances with a scoff and a flick of his wrist, spinning back to meet your gaze. “Your laptop?”

You pointed to your bag, still on your shoulder. You hadn’t taken it off since arriving at the top floor. He nodded, pressing the button to call the elevator behind you, currently the only way to access the top floor since he had cut off all access after the two of you discovered the body. He hadn’t wanted any employees to see it, of course, and send them into a panic. Though, you were sure the forensic unit coming upstairs would probably have people talking already. 

He gestured for you to follow him inside, and you did so with a submissive bow of your head. He pressed the button for the thirty-sixth floor, the programming department, and began grumbling something to himself you were not listening to quite enough to understand. After a short, silent elevator ride, you walked beside him briskly, moving your legs at near double his own pace just to keep up. You exchanged polite nods and curt greetings with passing employees, as was part of your job whilst walking with your boss. He lead you down the leftmost hallway toward the back corner of the department, a large, dark room filled with people whose heads were buried in their work. The only light coming from a dim, large television along one far wall and the computer monitors in front of each employee. 

Kaiba took a seat in the back of the room at a free computer, gesturing for you to sit in the empty seat next to him. You did so, smoothing your skirt before you sat in the comfortable rolling chair, pulling your laptop from your bag and setting it upon the desk. He did the same, his expensive KC brand laptop booting up much faster than yours, and he set to work without so much as a glance in your direction. You peered over the computer monitor to your front to see the employees in the room completely bewildered by the presence of your CEO in their office, some clearly shuffling uncomfortably and trying to look as if they were working, others staring wide-eyed at the two of you. 

You directed a glare at them, for their sake rather than your own, if Kaiba noticed them distracted he would throw a fit. His mood was already soured by this morning’s events, and you feared the next person to anger him may suffer more than a loud scolding. Each employee you locked eyes with visibly swallowed and scrambled back to work, returning their focus to their computer screens to the best of their abilities. Satisfied, you glanced down to your own laptop, logging in and opening your email. 

Yes, of course, people were already gossiping about the police on the top floor. Employees had seen them enter the elevator and ascend, but none had left yet, and they were nowhere to be found. Some speculated they had gone to the CEO’s office, others that they were in the security room. Rumors were circulating through the company email faster than you could read, and although you inwardly rolled your eyes you supposed if you weren’t Kaiba’s secretary you might have been speculating just as much. Had you not already seen the reason half the DCPD homicide division was on the top floor, the body collapsed on the floor and the blood erupted from his head. The shadows licking chunks of sunken flesh. 

Shadows….

It was dark in this office, overhead lights off and computer monitors dimmed to be easier on the office workers’ eyes. You were realizing, startlingly quickly, that the darkness of the room afforded all manner of nooks and crevices in corners, beneath desks. All sorts of places to hide, though what might be hiding, exactly, you could not fathom. Perhaps those same damnable shadows that hid inside of the dead security guard. The shadows that had blanketed your vision in your nightmares last night. 

You shuddered at the thought, a shiver you could not keep from your physical being tensing your muscles. Your boss seemed to have noticed, and in a haste you reached up to rub your arm, acting as if you had merely shivered from cold. The room was well air-conditioned considering how many running computers existed inside, it wasn’t strange for him to think you might have just gotten a chill from temperature rather than fright. You hoped your face did not betray you, keeping your eyes trained on your email as if you hadn’t noticed him look to you. To your relief, after a moment he returned his gaze to his laptop.

You tried with all your might to push any thoughts of shades and shadows and begged your focus to settle on work. Abandoning emails for other, more pressing matters, you cracked the knuckles on your right hand and drew in a deep, steadying breath. Once your fingers began typing, muscle memory took over, and the action quickly became purely instinctual. You weren’t even positive your brain was processing the words you splayed onto the page, an organized list of daily tasks to keep you focused on the day’s work. 

Which, just your luck, was all thrown out the window the moment your boss turned to you and sunk a USB drive into your laptop’s port. You blinked down at the device, then up to him, unreadable sapphire eyes catching the dim light of the room so they shone brightly in contrast. His face lacked emotion, a pragmatism that you only dreamed you could fully muster in wake of your last few days. How was he able to remain so calm despite the dead body at his door? 

“I’m giving you a different assignment.” He said coolly, only continuing once you’d nodded in conformation. “You’re in charge of figuring out what happen to Amagawa.”

Amagawa Kozue, the security guard lying dead at his doorstep, so to speak.

You blinked, before clearing your throat, “Sir isn’t that… more of a job for the police?” 

“I’d rather we perform our own internal investigation as well.” He dismissed. 

“Of course. But, why me? I would think the security personnel would be better suited for this.”

“I don’t trust them.” He replied. 

There was a nagging suspicion prodding your chest that insisted you were playing with fire by continuing to press him. Regardless of his reasons, his word was absolute, so if he was telling you to look into the murder then you had no choice. But you were curious his reasoning, both for assigning a secretary with no forensic or investigative background and for forsaking his own security branch so quickly. 

“You don’t trust our security?”

“No, the branch may be compromised.” You were equally surprised and curious to find he did not seem annoyed by your questioning, although his voice had lowered significantly so the two of you could not be heard by the other employees across the room. You cocked your head to ask for further clarification, which he only offered after considering your face for a moment. 

“Amagawa was struck facing his attacker, his taser and pepper spray still in his belt. He didn’t call for help, nor did he report the intrusion.” An irritated frown creased his brow, “It’s likely he knew the person who attacked.” 

You nodded. It made sense, if Amagawa had known his attacker, it was possible it had been a fellow employee, perhaps even a fellow security team member. Or, if not, it had been some sort of personal visit. Either way whoever had been watching the cameras also should have seen what was happening, so why had there been no report made? 

“I agree,” you replied, the words seeming to please him only slightly, “But sir, without the help of the security team I’m not positive what I can do on my own.” 

“You won’t be working on your own.”

You felt a bit relieved at that. It didn’t surprise you that he already had a team in mind to solve this mystery hanging over the company. It still surprised you, a bit, that he wanted you to be part of it. But after a moment of consideration you thought it was probably because you had the most access to him, and would be able to keep him up to date on the details. You were also relieved that he didn’t think you had anything to do with the murder, not that you had any reason to want to kill Amagawa of course, but considering it had happened only about ten feet from your desk it was nice to know you weren’t a suspect.

“Shall I consult with the team now, then?” You asked. 

“Yes,” he nodded, returning his attention to his laptop as soon as the question left your lips, “Mokuba is waiting for you in his office.”


	4. Rationalism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is your complimentary reminder to only read this chapter in direct sunlight, surrounded by family and friends. You know, the kind of people who won't judge you when you start incoherently babbling and screaming. Strangers, after all, might get worried and call the police.
> 
> _The police, of course, would be completely out of their depth._

Mokuba Kaiba, vice president of Kaiba Corporation and the CEO’s younger brother by five years, was perhaps the smartest and most genuine young man you’d ever had the pleasure to meet. His intelligence was only rivaled by his brother’s, and the two shared a pragmatism that made it quite obvious they were siblings. What set him apart from his elder brother, however, was his starkly different personality. Your boss was a calm, measured man in the privacy of his office, with a temper that rivaled that of an angry bear. Mokuba, on the contrary, was a bright and bubbly man, a smile almost always alight on his face. He had a similar impatience as Kaiba, though rather than letting loose any sort of temper when his patience expired, he typically grew more inwardly frustrated and exasperated. Rather than measured lectures or the catastrophic meltdowns his brother favored, the younger focused his energy on sarcastic humor, bafflement, or on only the rarest of occasions, a strained and raised voice that could be more terrifying than any amount of yelling.

You did not work with Mokuba directly very often, although you saw plenty of him and had come to regard him as a friend and occasional confidant. The two of you hardly spoke outside of the company, but with the amount of time he spent in his brother’s office or outside of it distracting you from your own work, you’d gotten to know him well in the last two years. He was a year your junior at twenty-five, though his maturity might suggest him to be even younger, hyperactive and easily excitable.

His own personal secretary was nowhere in sight when you reached his office, although Isono was already stood in the doorway and turned his head to you as you approached. The fluorescent ceiling lights glared against the silver wire frames of his black sunglasses. 

“Morning, Isono.”

He offered you a nod and spoke your last name barely loud enough for you to hear. You noticed as you got closer that his hair had been freshly dyed, greying ends you had spied a few days prior now covered in a deep green-black that matched the rest. Before you had the chance to ask him what he was doing up here, or if he needed anything from you, he excused himself from the doorway and briskly walked past, disappearing down the hall that lead to the elevators. You shrugged, peeking into Mokuba’s office and knocking lightly on the still-open wooden door. 

“Oh, hey!” He said cheerily, waving you inside with his left hand and he scribbled something down with a heavy silver pen in his right. “Come on in. Oh, could you close the door behind you?”

You did so, removing the metal doorstop from the lower corner of his office door and allowing it to click closed behind you, before taking a seat in the leather chair across from his oak desk. Just as quickly as your back his the cushion, however, he set his pen down and shook his head, insisting you pull the chair around to join him in front of his computer. 

“So, how are you?” He chirped while you did as he asked, dragging the chair to sit beside his. 

“Well, as good as I can be considering the dead body near my desk.” You replied, although you had intended there to be a playfulness in your voice the statement came out matter-of-factly. 

“Right, yeah that,” Mokuba hummed, “I saw it a few minutes ago when I went up to talk to the detectives. Good thing I skipped breakfast.” 

You nodded, “Yeah not exactly a pretty sight.”

“And!” He suddenly exclaimed, turning away from one of his computer monitors to face you, his voice raised an octave and face twisted in disgust, “Whoever did it broke your paperweight!”

You blinked a few times. He sounded a lot more upset with his cracked gift than he did the body in front of his brother’s office, at first you thought he was merely joking or being sarcastic, but when his grey eyes sparkled with genuine objection you couldn’t help but laugh. His brow furrowed at your response, face quickly taking on an offended mask. 

“Why are you laughing at me?” He demanded, “I’m serious here! That was an important gift!” 

“I know, I know,” you chuckled, “Sorry I just wasn’t expecting that to be what you got so upset about.”

He sighed dejectedly and shook his head as your laughter died down, obviously trying to keep the beginnings of a smirk from his lips. “So, anyway, Seto sent you here to work with me on the case right?”

You nodded. 

“Great! Let’s get started then, Watson.” 

“Watson?” You scoffed, “What we’re playing detective now?” 

“We’re not playing, silly. We are detectives now.” 

“Uh-huh. And why are you designating me Waston?”

He flashed you a grin, “Because I look hot in a deerstalker hat.” 

You decided not to ask him why he knew that, fearing the question might open a can of worms you were not prepared to deal with judging by the devilish spark in his eyes. Instead you conceded to him as he declared the game was afoot and retrieved his heavy silver pen from his desk, digging a notebook from one of his desk drawers and opening to a fresh page. You pulled your laptop from your bag at his request and began reading off basics of the ‘case’ as he nodded along dramatically, scribbling down facts on the paper. 

Victim: Amagawa Kozue, 41, security personnel at Kaiba Corporation, worked regular hours from 9pm to 7am, patrolling floors 43-47 Monday through Wednesday and watching cameras in the security office Saturdays and Sundays. Date of death Tuesday, November 13th, time currently unknown. 

“Sir--” 

He groaned, “I keep telling you not to call me sir, it feels weird when I’m younger than you.”

“Sorry, force of habit,” you sighed, “Anyway, shouldn’t we wait for the other to get here before we get too much further?”

“Others?” He quirked an eyebrow. 

“Mister Kaiba said there would be a team put together for this investigation.” 

Mokuba grinned, “You’re looking at it. We are the team. Well, and Isono.” 

“Wait, just us?” 

He looked offended, “What you don’t think we can solve this by ourselves? I’ll have you know, I may not be on my brother’s level of genius but I’m pretty darn smart.” 

You had half a mind to buy him a ‘junior detective’ badge at that remark but quickly pushed the thought from your mind. 

“And anyway,” Mokuba continued, “Seto doesn’t really trust anyone else to work on this project. He said if the security team was compromised, any number of employees could have known about this or even have been involved. He wants to keep this on the down-low, and that means only involving people he trusts the most.”

“I’m… honestly surprised I made that list,” you admitted. 

He chuckled, “Seto had me run an additional background check on you before putting you on the job just to be sure. But you’ve been his secretary for a while now so I’m not surprised he thinks you’re dependable.”

You admittedly felt quite honored at that and decided to let the matter slip, returning to reading off the basic facts to Mokuba as he set down his notepad and turned his attention to one of his computer monitors. He double-clicked one of the icons on his desktop, opening up the program which tracked security camera footage. He typed a few numbers into the search bar at the top and scrolled through a few still-frames before spying the ones from last night with views of Kaiba’s office. He clicked on the two that showed the exterior of the oak doors. One from the camera that was just above your own desk, and gave a view of the elevator on the left and the office on the right, along with the bathroom doors a little ways down the circular hallway and the windows which followed it. The other was above the elevator, showing your desk on the right and the wooden doors in the middle.

“Have you seen these yet?” Mokuba asked. 

You shook your head.

“Alright, so here’s the footage at two thirteen in the morning…” he muttered as he tapped the spacebar on his laptop, both views from the cameras playing simultaneously at his command. He held the right arrow key for a few seconds so the footage sped up, until the left video showed the elevator doors opening “And here it is at two eighteen, when Amagawa comes up to the top floor for his patrol.” 

You watched him speed the footage up for about another forty seconds, in which time Amagawa did one lap around the hallway, paused in front of your desk, and entered the room behind it where office supplies, snacks, and the tea and coffee pots were kept. Mokuba removed his finger from the arrow key as the guard exited the room and headed to Kaiba office, fidgeting with his key ring for a moment to find the one which unlocked the heavy oak doors. He pushed open the rightmost door and reached into his utility belt to produce a flashlight, clicking it on and moving it back and forth a few times as he scanned the interior of the office. After a moment, he returned the torch to his belt and closed and locked the door. 

“Looks normal thus far,” you hummed, “So when does the murder happen?”

“That’s the weird part, watch.” Mokuba pointed at the monitor. You watched for another fifteen seconds, in which time Amagawa turned to face the elevator, hands behind his back as he stood guard at the office doors. 

Then, at two twenty-one and fourteen seconds, both cameras went black.

“Someone cut the camera footage?” 

“Looks like it,” Mokuba confirmed. 

“For how long?” 

To answer your question, both screens simultaneously flickered back to life, the timestamps reading five AM exactly. In the nearly three hours that the cameras had been off, Amagawa had already been killed, both cameras showing his body slumped against the doors, skull caved in and decorative paperweight on the ground to his right, the strange writing scrawled on the door in his blood. 

“The cameras cut out for over two and a half hours and no one reported it?” You demanded, incredulous. 

“Now you see why my brother doesn’t trust the security team.”

You sighed and sank back into your chair, “Well this doesn’t give us much better of a time frame than we already had. Is there any way to recover the footage that got cut?” 

“Seto’s working on it, but he said he’s not sure.” He offered with a shrug. 

“Well,” you hummed, “While we wait for that what do you want to do from here? Check out the security office and see if any equipment was tampered with, or question the team?” 

“Isono already check the office, it’s clean as far as he can tell. The police went with him, too.” 

“And the guards working last night?” 

“Already went home by the time you two discovered the body,” he sighed, clicking his silver pen a few times as he, too, leaned back against his chair. “Most of them are working again tonight, or tomorrow so we can talk to them then. If they don’t show up, we’ll know that they’re a suspect.”

“You don’t think we should have them come back in now to talk to them? Or at least call them up?” You asked. 

“No, I don’t want any of them to know we think they might have been part of it. They might start talking to each other and plan something… better to make them think they got away with it.” He replied.

Mokuba was taking this Sherlock Holmes thing really seriously, even down to the mind games. You half expected him to pull out a pipe and start packing it with tobacco. Funny as it was, he was clearly thinking through his strategy, and you figured he knew what he was doing. Although his genius wasn’t on your boss’ level, the intelligence of vice president of Kaiba Corporation was a force to be reckoned with. So, you decided to simply nod along to his explanation and allow him to continue thinking up his strategy. After a few more clicks of his pen and a long hum, he clicked the view of one of the cameras so it filled the majority of his computer screen, the camera which showed a frontal view of the body in front of his brother’s office. He double clicked a few times on the upper center of the photo, zooming in closer and closer to the scrawling letters on the doors. He then flipped to a previous page in his notebook, skimming over the writing already inside, then back over the computer screen. 

“I want to know what this is supposed to mean.” He announced.

“The weird language?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I already did a google search but didn’t come up with anything. I can’t even pronounce it even if I try my hardest. It’s nothing like English, German, or even Latin.”

“Woah, do you speak all of those?” You asked.

He flashed you a grin, “And Korean and Chinese. Though, I’ll admit my German needs work.”

He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and produced a thin, sleek cell phone, Kaiba Corporation’s latest model. With a dramatic swipe of his finger he unlocked the screen, and dialed a number from memory. 

“Hey Bro, I’m taking your secretary on a field trip… uh-huh… yeah we’ll be back in a couple hours… okay.” 

The short conversation ended with that, and he switched his phone back off and put it back into his jacket, standing from his chair and offering you a hand. You took it, using your other hand to shut your laptop screen, and as he began gathering a few folders and his notebook into a small, expensive looking leather tote, you put your own things into your laptop bag. 

“So, what’s this field trip you’re taking me on?” You asked. 

“DCU,” he replied as he slung his bag over his shoulder and pulled a flashy, yellow silk scarf around his neck. “I want to talk to a language expert, see if they know what this might mean.”

~

Domino City University was split into two large campuses. The main campus was in central Domino, home to the arts and undergraduate studies programs, and the medical campus stood just before the border heading into Tokyo. Considering Mokuba was wanting to learn more about whatever strange language had ended up written in blood on the CEO’s door, the main campus would serve your purposes.

It was a short limousine ride despite lunchtime traffic, honestly it probably would have been faster on foot, but now that the morning mist had turned to an afternoon drizzle, the vice president of Kaiba Corporation insisted on taking an automobile. Not one to pass up arriving at your alma mater in style, you joined him in the plush leather seats and listened intently as he babbled on about his brilliant plan to catch whoever killed Amagawa. Figure out what the writing meant, whether it had something to do with a cult of some sort, and what ties any of the employees had to it. Question the guards individually, see what they knew, and observe their facial expressions carefully. Figure out which one of them allowed an unauthorized person into the building, or, alternatively, allowed a fellow employee to the top floor in the wee hours of the night. Mokuba seemed to think it an easy case to solve, especially once his brother recovered the CCTV footage.

If only the two of you knew at the time what you were about to get yourselves into. 

You each disembarked the limousine in front of the Foreign Language and History building, huddling beneath a black umbrella the driver was holding above your heads to shelter you from the rain. He dismissed himself once you both crossed the threshold into the building, glass double doors sliding open automatically in response to your arrival. Mokuba took your lead through the campus halls, you knew the layout better than he did having graduated a handful of years prior. This wasn’t a building you’d spent a ton of time in, but you’d had a number of classes with the former professor of English, Doctor Anders, during your first and second years. You knew, therefore, the vague locations of most of the professors’ offices, including the head of the foreign languages department, whom you and Mokuba were on your way to see. 

Professor Yukawa Tadayoshi was teaching three classes this semester, if the schedule posted to the front of his door was to be believed. Intermediate Latin, German Literature, and European History and Culture. He was sat in his office in front of a heavy wooden desk, a mug of either tea or coffee in his right hand and a piece of paper in his left. 

“Professor Yukawa?” Mokuba knocked gently on the open door a few times, gaining the teacher’s attention. The middle-aged gentleman glanced up from his work, brown eyes darting between you and the vice-president a few times before a faint smile graced his features. 

“You two don’t look like college students.”

Either he was making a comment about your age or the way you were dressed. Maybe both. Before you could ask, Mokuba had already stepped into the office and extended a white business card, embellished with a silver foil KC logo. You stepped up to stand beside him, offering a polite bow of your head and a verbal introduction rather than a business card of your own. Yukawa glanced over the business card for a moment before setting it atop his wooden desk. 

“Well then, what can I do for you, Mister Kaiba?” 

“Actually,” Mokuba began, pulling his leatherbound notebook from his bag and flipping to the most recent page, where the strange and foreign writing on his brother’s door had been copied down. “We were wondering if you could take a look at this and tell us if you know what it means? Or what language it might be?” 

Professor Yukawa looked down at the neat handwriting for a much shorter time than you’d expected, pushing the notebook back to the vice president with a shake of his head. 

“Sorry Mister Kaiba, but I’ve got no idea. As I already told the police, this looks… almost like a fantasy language.” 

“The police already came by to show you this?” You asked. 

He nodded, “They only left about… half an hour ago?”

“I see,” Mokuba said with a sigh, and you and he exchanged a glance as he closed his notebook and slipped it back into his bag.

“Apologies if this is an inappropriate question,” the professor began, adjusting one of his sleeve cuffs as he spoke, “But did something happen? I mean, if the police are involved, and the vice president of Kaiba Corporation himself is coming to me with this too….” 

He trailed off, though his question was clear enough even without further elaboration. Still, you and Mokuba shook your heads. There wasn’t anything you could tell him; the murder was still being kept quiet, at the order of both the police and Seto Kaiba. 

“Is there anyone else at the school who might have any idea what this could mean?” Mokuba asked, though any hope in his voice had clearly deflated. 

Yukawa shook his head, “I already did a little asking around my department after the police left, no one has a clue. Like I said, I don’t think it’s even a real language.” 

“What about anyone in the history department?” You asked. 

He thought for a moment, before slowly shaking his head again. “Not to my knowledge. You might have some luck with the anthropology department, if anything, but the head is out on an expedition until the end of the week.”

Mokuba shrugged, half to you and half to the professor, “Suppose that’s our best lead. Do you happen to have the head’s information on file?” 

“I think I have one of her business cards somewhere around here…” Yukawa muttered, pulling open one of his desk drawers. “Let’s see… no not that one… ah, here it is!” 

He produced a small, light cerulean card from the drawer and offered it to Mokuba. He took it and gave it a curious glance, cocking his head to the side momentarily before he slipped it into his bag and gave a bow of thanks. You followed suit. 

“I would tell you to email her but she’s currently in Antarctica,” Yukawa said, “She won’t have internet until she returns from her travels.” 

“That’s alright, we’ll come back in a few days,” Mokuba said, “Thank you for your help.” 

“Of course, sorry I couldn’t be of more.” 

You and the vice president excused yourselves from his office and made your way swiftly back to the limousine. Mokuba tossed his bag to the empty seat next to him and leaned back with a sigh. You tapped a finger on the cup holder to your right and watched him pull the blue business card out once again. He scanned its front and flipped it between his fingers a few times and hummed.

“Something wrong?” You asked. 

“No, not wrong,” he replied, “I just know this woman is all. Didn’t know she was living in Japan.” 

“Oh?” 

He nodded, “Yeah she used to be a professional duelist, actually. She was America’s champion for a few years. My brother invited her to a couple tournaments so I’ve known her since I was a kid.” 

“Were the two of you close?” You asked. 

“Nah not really. I could count the number of conversations we’ve had on one hand. It’ll be nice to see her again, though.” 

He slipped the card into his bag once again and pulled out his phone, occupying himself with typing out a message. You took that as your cue to leave him to his work, and decided to do the same yourself, pulling your own phone from your jacket pocket and looking over your email. Considering what had happened this morning and the fact that you’d been away from your computer for the better part of the day, you had significantly fewer messages than you thought you would. You quietly thought over the conversation with professor Yukawa, as for some reason, his words had latched into your mind. The way he had described the scrawlings on Mokuba’s notebook paper as a ‘fantasy language’. What was it about that phrase?

The rest of the day passed with little fanfare, you returned to the office only to be dismissed by Seto Kaiba himself, insisting you take the rest of the day off. You did so begrudgingly, stopping at a small cafe on your way home to grab a latte. You ordered soba for dinner, deciding that after everything that had happened today you had absolutely no desire to cook. As six rolled around, the grey clouds outside your living room window were replaced with the blackness of night, and the sight began to make you feel uneasy. You had tried to ignore the feeling for a while, but eventually the pit in your stomach became too much to bear. 

You walked around your apartment and turned on all the lights inside, even in rooms you had no plans to be inside for hours. You made yourself a cup of chamomile tea in an attempt to relax, and curled up on your couch with your laptop. You spent two hours researching the brightest brand of light bulbs; after how comfortable you had felt in the warm brightness of Kaiba Corp., you decided that your apartment lamps could use an upgrade. You even spent an extra four-thousand yen on overnight shipping. Soon after, you set your laptop aside and watched television until your consciousness began to fade. You were even able to sleep that night, however you were only able to do so with all the lights in your apartment turned on.


	5. Black Seas of Infinity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since you've already made it this far, there's no longer a point to me warning you about reading these chapters. Salt circles, silver crosses, holy water, none of it can save you now.
> 
>  
> 
> _So let us revel in madness together, my dears._  
> 

On Wednesday morning, practically the second your bag hit your computer chair, your boss called you into his office to inform you that the security footage during the time of the murder was completely unsalvageable. Whatever had been done to the cameras-- whether it was through hacking or done in the security office itself-- had resulted in the footage being completely erased from the system. It was as if all trace of what had occured during those few hours had completely vanished, and because of it, Kaiba was furious. 

He wasn’t flying into a blind rage, oh no, he was in a much more terrifying state than that. When he spoke to you his voice was so calm and measured you might have even mistaken it for a completely natural tone had you not worked for him for so long. The broken fountain pen you spied in the waste bin beside his desk only served to further solidify your hypothesis. Whilst on the subject, you were surprised by the amount of force he must have exercised on the poor metal object, now splintered and caked in expensive blue ink.

The void, icy way he asked-- ordered would be a better word-- you to go out and purchase for him a pack of Benson & Hedges sent a chill through to your core. Your boss was a scary man indeed. With a bow so quick you near made yourself dizzy, you gracefully bolted from his office and left the building in such a hurry you completely forgot both your coat and your umbrella. It wouldn’t have been a problem had it not begun pouring practically the second you entered the smoke shop a block down and purchased the pack of cigarettes you’d been sent for. You winced at the sound of booming thunder that practically rattled the windows in the small store, taking a cautionary glance outside and sighing heavily at the sight of a curtain of rain. 

“You wouldn’t happen to have an umbrella lying around would you,” You asked the elderly gentleman behind the counter as you put your wallet back into your purse, “I’d be happy to buy it from you, or--” 

He shook his head, “Sorry dear. You’re welcome to wait inside until the rain stops, though.” 

You were tempted to take him up on the offer, but feared an even greater fate in store for you than just soaked clothes if you took too long bringing Kaiba his cigarettes. When you relayed as much, the shopkeeper offered you a look of pity, but allowed you on your way. 

It poured buckets the entire way back to the office, and you were thankful that at least your purse was leather and would offer your wallet and your boss’ cigarettes shelter from the rain. Presenting him with soggy smokes would likely have you sent home for the day due to incompetence or negligence or… something of that nature. You felt a little bad for assuming as much of Kaiba; he had always been, if nothing else, very professional and even fairly reasonable with you. He had never gotten mad at you for calling out sick, even for the entire week you had the flu last November, and rarely asked you to stay late even on nights you knew he was planning not to go home. To be fair, you quite often stayed late anyway, and never made a habit of skipping work. Still, other than the occasional times he got into this sort of mood and demanded you buy him a pack of cigarettes or a coffee from a specific shop, he was typically a very calm and understanding man, at least to you. When another employee made him mad… well, that was a completely different story. 

If you were being honest, the only reason you were still sometimes convinced he was going to fly off the handle and fire you on the spot was because of stories you had heard around the office. You were Kaiba’s twenty-sixth secretary since he took over as CEO, and in sixteen years that was a scary number. In his first year alone he had gone through six different men and women, and another four in his second. In fact, other than yourself and your predecessor, Kaiba hadn’t kept a PA for more than eight months. 

On the bright side, that meant you had to be doing something right. You’d also heard enough stories to know your boss had had quite the temper as a teen, and now just reaching his thirties he had mellowed out to a much more collected individual. Well, other than the occasional bursts of fury he dolled out to an unsuspecting tabloid writer or the way he sometimes spoke to the programmers in a slow, deriding way as if they were children. Thankfully, you were neither a programmer nor a reporter, so you were probably safe. Yet the thought that at any moment he had the potential to explode with you on the receiving end still existed, at least somewhere in the back of your mind. 

By the time you made it back to the office you were soaked down to your underwear, your hair had stuck itself to your neck, and you were fairly certain there was enough water in your shoes to save a small nation from dehydration. The two men at the front desk, Kozoi and Aki, both froze the moment they saw you step into the lobby and glance around. You weren’t entirely sure if you should head to the elevators and track water all over the clean floors, but you weren’t sure how to get back upstairs if you didn’t. 

“You look like a disaster,” Aki said, before receiving a quick elbow in the ribs from Kozoi. They both muttered apologies but you waved them off. 

“I know,” you chuckled, “Man I thought rainy season was over. This is getting ridiculous.”

“What did you go outside for, if you don’t mind my asking?” Kozoi cocked his head. 

“Had to pick up something for Mister Kaiba,” you sighed. “But I don’t exactly want to get water all over--” 

Both men shot upright halfway through your reply and quickly began waving their hands in dismissal, each talking over each other nervously and insisting you go upstairs right away. They assured you they would call someone down to take care of the water, Aki even going to far as to pick up the phone beside him and begin frantically speaking into it, paging one of the custodians. You decided to spare them any more terror and excused yourself, rushing to one of the elevators and swiping your card to ensure the car wouldn’t stop for anyone on the way. You didn’t need anyone else seeing you wet as a fish. 

You kept a spare set of clothes in the office for emergencies and the occasional all-nighters, and you were thankful now that you did. You could wring out your sodden blouse and skirt in the bathroom and change quickly before handing your boss his cigarettes. You were pretty sure you also had a hair tie in your bag somewhere that would save you from the water dripping down your back from your hair. However, as the doors to the elevator opened and you had every intention of grabbing your extra set of clothing, you froze at the sight of your boss, just stepping out of his office. He locked eyes with you, before furrowing his brow and looking you up and down. 

“You… went out like that.” He muttered, the question warping into a statement by the end. 

“I forgot my umbrella, Sir,” you muttered sheepishly, before quickly reaching into your purse and retrieving the pack of cigarettes, “But I was sure to keep these dry for you!” 

He blinked at the smokes in your hand, staring at them for a beat long enough to make a lump form in your throat. After what must have been a trick of the light that had almost convinced you he rolled his eyes, he took the small package from you and tucked them into his pocket. What you were sure of, however, was the way he half-muttered the word ‘idiot’ under his breath as he did so. His tone didn’t imply anger or annoyance, surprisingly, even though you were dripping water all over the floor. 

You remembered your change of clothes and with a quick bow, excused yourself from your boss’ scrutinizing gaze, explaining as you walked away from him that you needed to put on something less damp so you could get to work. He didn’t stop you, or offer any sort of comment at all, watching you dash through the hall and leave a trail of rain before disappearing into the stock room which held your overnight belongings. 

~

Leading up to Friday, your week had been surprisingly uneventful. You, Mokuba, and Isono had taken turns questioning the security guards during their shifts, asking about who and what they had seen the night of the murder, and in the days leading up to it. Most seemed to genuinely have no idea what had happened, those who had not worked the evening or morning of had only been briefed on the situation, and details had been purposely kept vague. Seto Kaiba insisted as much, stating only the killer and his accomplices would know specifics about the murder. It would make the criminals easier to catch. 

Most of the personnel working into the early hours of the morning when the incident occured insisted they hadn't even known something was wrong. It was why they had made no reports. Even through all sorts of prodding and questioning trying to get them to slip up, they seemed genuinely in the dark. It made sense, Amagawa was the only guard on duty on the top floor, and would have only been seen or heard from on the pager if something went wrong. 

Everyone agreed Amagawa was a fairly quiet man, he didn't participate in conversations over the pager unless asked a direct question, and he took his lunch break alone upstairs. Upon reviewing security camera footage from weeks prior, that seemed to be the case. He would sequester himself inside of the large supply closet behind your office, sit at the small side table off in one of the corners which you typically used to staple and sort papers, and enjoy a quiet meal while reading a book or browsing his phone. 

It was no wonder nothing had been reported when he hadn't left in the morning with everyone else. The man was like a specter, only seen before and after shifts unless he was caught on camera. And with those shut off during his murder, the only people who would have had any idea something had happened would be the three men who had been working in the security office that night. 

That's when things got interesting. 

The third floor of the building was used to test new technology, games, and Duel systems. It had many rooms with two-way glass, which allowed QA professionals and testers to try out new releases without having a scientist or developer breathing over their shoulder. You had been on the other side of this glass many a time, taking notes for Kaiba when he couldn't be around in person to watch a test. The design of the rooms, then, was actually perfect for an interrogation.

Unanimously it was agreed that Isono should do the questioning while you and Mokuba observed. Isono was the scariest of the three of you by a long shot, considering a majority of employees only knew of him as a silent and mysterious man who wore sunglasses indoors and acted as a personal bodyguard to the CEO. Most were too terrified of him to say hello beyond a mute bow, and therefore had only ever heard his voice when he was lecturing someone or when they saw him on television hosting one of Kaiba's tournaments. 

You and Mokuba continued your roles as Sherlock and Watson, with you taking notes on what had been said and creating a timeline of events to keep facts straight, and Mokuba listening intently and paying close attention to body language. At some point the vice president commented that Isono had become your Lestrade, although you argued his personality made him much more comparable to Gregson. It was a good thing Doyle's works had been an object of your study in a classic Western literature class back in college.

While Isono questioned the three men who had been inside of the security office that night, a strange pattern began to emerge. Each of them began to act confused as they responded to the man's inquiries, shifting in their seats and often staring into space as if searching their brains for answers. All three babbled something or another about not being able to remember anything specific about that night. Their testimonies each matched up almost perfectly, suspiciously so. 

The men claimed that it had been just like any ordinary evening, they had chatted with each other about the rain and their personal lives. The news had been playing on the radio in the background, so there was never any silence in the large security room. Still, they insisted they had kept their eyes on the camera screens, light conversation not being enough to distract them from their work. 

At first, they all seemed to believe they had been called in to be lectured about their work ethic. Each was defensive about their jobs, swearing up and down to Isono that they were good employees and that there had never been an incident under their watch. 

“What about what happened last night, then?” Isono had pressed. 

Each of the men had looked confused by the question, furrowing their brows or tilting their heads at Kaiba's right hand man. They each asked something to the effect of ‘What do you mean last night?’

Still under orders to keep information as vague as possible, Isono had avoided the question and, instead, had each of the men recount how the night had gone. That was when each of the three men described a sort of fictional timeline, word for word, as if it had been rehearsed. 

“It was a night just like any other,” they would shrug, “We came in, checked all of the cameras and pagers like protocol states, sat down, and watched the monitors until three. Then we all had lunch together in the office -- Akira brought us some udon since he lost that bet last week. Then we all left together once Kino came in to relieve us.” 

“And you noticed nothing at all about the cameras before you had lunch?” 

Each of the men shook their head, “Nah, cameras were all working like normal.” 

“Including the cameras of the top floor?” 

At this, the three men being questioned individually got the same looks on their faces, as if they were suddenly staring into space. When pressed, they each admitted their memories were a little foggy, but they were positive nothing out of the ordinary had happened with the cameras. 

Isono then thanked them for their time, and told them they would have the results of their ‘professional review’ once everyone had been interviewed. After three separate interviews, you and the two men returned to Mokuba's office and sat around his desk thoughtfully. 

“It seems obvious to me that those men are lying,” Isono was the first to speak, arms crossed over his chest, black silk tie wrinkling under the pressure. 

“I'm inclined to agree,” you nodded, “Their stories line up exactly. No one would be so spot on in their testimonies unless they had rehearsed it beforehand.” 

“It is suspicious, but something seems… weird about it.” Mokuba hummed. 

“Like what?” You asked. 

“I mean if they had rehearsed these stories it's because they all knew what was going to happen to Amagawa right?”

You and Isono gave a unisoned, “Mhm.” 

“Yet all three of them seemed concerned that they were being questioned about their work ethic.” 

“Wouldn't that simply be their cover?” Isono asked. 

“Maybe, but that doesn't seem like something they would agree to act nervous about,” Mokuba shrugged. “I mean lining up their stories is one thing but they all acted genuinely scared about the exact same thing.” 

“It's also strange that all three of them stuck with the same cover story,” you muttered.

“Not if they had rehearsed it beforehand,” Isono said plainly. 

“Well sure but… if they went for a cover story it means they all knew what had happened to Amagawa, right?”

Isono gave a stiff nod. 

“Yet none of them ratted the others out. I mean I'm not saying it's impossible that they're all very loyal to one another but we're talking about a murder here. At least one of them would have to get nervous enough about the consequences to try to pin the blame on the others.” 

“True,” Mokuba agreed, “Ota has two kids, and Daoko is about to be a grandfather, they can't afford to go to jail.” 

“Plus what are the odds all three of them hated Amagawa enough to conspire to kill him?” 

Isono hummed, “Perhaps they were offered a large sum of money?” 

You and Mokuba shrugged. It was possible, although considering how high wages were at Kaiba Corp., that theory wasn't as sound as it might have been at another company. It was the best you had to go on for now, however. 

“If only we had a way to see if any of them have had any money put into their accounts recently,” you said. 

Mokuba and Isono exchanged a look, one which you decided to pretend you hadn’t seen, before the older of the men stood from the chair next to you and adjusted his black suit. With a low bow, he excused himself from the office, to where you could only guess but you figured it would be better if you didn’t. What he was about to do was potentially not-so-legal, so the less you knew, the better. 

“I should go report what we’ve discovered thus far to Mister Kaiba,” you sighed, “Although it isn’t much so he’s probably going to have my head for it.” 

“Want me to tell him? He can’t fire his own brother.” Mokuba chuckled. 

“I appreciate the offer but I think I’d get even more of a lecture if I push my responsibilities onto you.” You replied with a smile before standing from your own chair. “Give me a call if you need me for anything else today.” 

“Can do, Watson.” He said with a mock salute. 

You begrudgingly slung your laptop bag over your shoulder and exited the vice president’s office, making your way to the elevator and pressing the button for the top floor. Unlike the days prior, you did not need to swipe your employee ID for the elevator to obey your request, now that access to the CEO’s office had once again been made available to everyone. Prior to today, Kaiba had closed off all access to the floor only to himself, you, Mokuba, Isono, and the police. So far, Amagawa’s death had been kept a closely guarded secret, one which was only known by those investigating his death and his immediate family. Amagawa’s parents and elder sister had agreed to keep quiet about the murder after being assured it would help catch his killer and bring them to justice. The cover story being told to curious employees and questioned guards was that Amagawa had fallen and hurt his leg on the job, and was on paid medical leave until further notice. Since he hardly spoke to anyone and mainly kept to himself, no one seemed to care enough to ask anything beyond that.

Amagawa’s body had been carried out of the building inside of a stretcher, which was fairly normal. What was not normal was the fact that the stretcher was placed inside of a large freezer, and wheeled out by an officer disguised as a simple maintenance man. The officers who got rid of the blood were dressed in sanitary uniforms, then sent to four different floors as to keep up the ruse that they were simply inside the building for routine cleaning. 

The entire ordeal was a breach of, quite possibly, every protocol possible. At least, you were pretty sure it was. The only reason that Amagawa’s death was allowed to be kept a secret was because Seto Kaiba had demanded it. The man had more power over Domino City than you could fathom, and when he wanted something he got it.

This was all more than you’d ever expected from a simple secretary’s job, that was for certain. 

You disembarked the elevator and crossed the now pristine entryway leading to your boss’ office, the place still smelling strongly of citrus scented cleaner and the wood flooring shining brilliantly in the white LED lights hung overhead. The large oak doors in front of you were now free of blood, weird writing or otherwise, and shone almost as brightly as the floors. You gave them a quick few knocks, and listened for the order to enter before pushing the left one open and shutting it quietly behind you. 

“Sir I have a report for this week’s investigation.” 

“What did you three find?” He demanded.

“Unfortunately, not much,” you admitted, reaching into your bag to pull out a packet of papers. “None of the guards had any idea what had happened to Amagawa, or so they claim, and Mokuba says their body language lines up with them telling the truth. As for the three working in the security office that night--” 

Kaiba reached over his desk to take the papers from you and began scanning them quickly as you spoke.

“--Their stories all seem to line up a little too perfectly.” 

“How so?” 

“Isono questioned them all separately, but word for word they described the exact same night, and insisted they had no idea anything had happened. They all say the cameras operated perfect fine the entire night.”

“Which means either whoever disabled the cameras kept them playing on a loop, or they’re lying.” Kaiba muttered, seemingly more so to himself than to you. “You say each of the men used the exact same words?” 

“Yes sir, almost like their story had been rehearsed.”

He flipped the page and gave a long hum. You stood quietly and allowed him to read, or think, and took an interest in the empty pot of coffee on the other side of the room. It was getting close to three, but you had your suspicions your boss would chose to stay late again tonight, as he had every night after Amagawa’s murder. You decided to brew another pot. 

You measured out the coffee grounds and took the empty pot into the other room to fill it with water. When you returned, Kaiba had set the papers on his desk and folded his hands on his desk, focusing his attention on you. You made eye contact, and kept it until you had to look back to the coffee maker to pour the water. 

“What does Mokuba have to say about their cover story?” He asked. 

“The vice president thinks it’s suspicious, but he said something was weird about the way they were acting.” 

“In what way?”

“When Isono was questioning them, they all acted like their work ethic was being called into question. Mokuba said it seemed an odd cover, especially for all three of them to chose.”

“Is that all?”

“He didn’t say anything else, if he has any other theories, sir. Although… for the record, I have my suspicions too.” You paused as you set the coffee to brew, and as you turned back noticed he was still staring at you, waiting for you to continue. “I just don’t see what motive any of them would have to kill Amagawa, or to turn a blind eye to someone else doing it. Especially not all three of them together.” 

“Not a single motivation.” It came out as a strange halfway point between a question and a statement, as if he were prompting you to elaborate but also speaking to himself. 

“Everyone we’ve talked to about Amagawa had said he was quiet, sure, but no one spoke badly of him at all. If anything they all seemed fairly indifferent about him. The only reason we could think of was money,” you shrugged, “Isono is going to look into that I think.” 

“You think?”

“Ah well… he didn’t exactly say he was going to out loud, sir.” 

Your boss barely raised an eyebrow but the expression was gone as quickly as it had come.

“Alright, that’s all for now.” He said curtly, “Return to your work, I’ll call you in if I have further questions.” 

“Yes sir,” you replied with a bow, before hurrying out of his office and back to your desk. Boring as it was going to be, you were a bit relieved to get back to sorting files and responding to emails. You needed a break from all the murder mystery nonsense.


End file.
